


Taste the Chaos

by theroguesgambit



Series: Chaotic [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dark Stiles, Denial, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mild S&M, Mind Games, Nogitsune, Violence, Void Stiles, guilt tripping, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroguesgambit/pseuds/theroguesgambit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "Insatiable".  The Nogitsune pays Derek a visit and decides it likes what it sees.  Derek's lonely and angry, and can't decide what he wants.</p><p>Companion piece to "Feed the Chaos." Same scene, from Derek's point of view.  Can be read in either order or independently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste the Chaos

**Taste the Chaos**

There was no outrunning this. They were too fast, and he’d been stupid to think he could hide. He’d underestimated the enemy, and he was seconds away from paying for it.

Derek’s back slammed into the side of the subway car, fighting a snarl as the long gash down his side screamed out at the impact. The wound in his leg was still bleeding freely, making running nearly impossible. He’d managed to make it this far, ducking back into his old den at the rail yard almost on instinct. The injured animal, seeking out the familiar.

Stupid move. _Stupid move_.

Because now he was trapped in a building with only one main set of doors, too injured to make an escape through the high windows, cornered like a (despite everything, his lips twitched at the thought)… like a fox in a trap.

And he was badly outnumbered because the goddamn Oni, who were _supposed_ to be hunting the Nogitsune, had somehow ended up on its side.

He pushed himself off the side of the train and his leg almost buckled under the extra weight. He was healing, but too slowly. He’d gotten used to being an Alpha, the power boost that came with it. Being able to take a slash, stab, impalement, and keep on running. His healing these days was just too damn slow.

This was too much to handle alone. He needed backup.

Derek dug out his phone and punched in Scott’s number, putting it to his ear and gritting his teeth as the sound of the phone ringing blocked out potential warning noises around him.

On the fifth ring, Derek swore he saw a shadow shift. On the seventh, there was a gleam of moving metal in the moonlight.

By the eighth, he was ready to hang up and make a run for the doors. His leg would just learn to deal.

But then the line connected.

“Scott!” Derek’s voice rang too loudly along the echoing railway, and he winced, drawing in a hushed breath. Not that it mattered – they knew right where he was. Derek was enough of a predator to know when he was being toyed with.

_“Derek, I’m here.  What’s going on?”_

There was a muffled noise through the line, another voice that made Derek fight a flinch. Stiles was there with Scott. _Real_ Stiles, not the Nogitsune wearing his face. Not the one that had tracked Derek down after he’d dropped the twins back home, and sent the Oni chasing after him.

The rail yard was too damn silent.

“I found him,” Derek said quickly, eyes flitting between shadows. “Or… he found me.  I don’t know.  He came out of nowhere, and the damn Oni have switched sides for some reason.”

Scott didn’t sound nearly shocked enough by that news, especially considering that his new girlfriend’s mom was supposed to be in charge of them.

_“Yeah, Derek… about that…”_

He’d already known. Of course he had. Derek would have rolled his eyes, snapped some sarcastic thanks for the heads up… but then he smelled it: the faint, musky scent of another person’s presence, familiar in a way that had Derek’s guard automatically dropping, hackles raising a second later when his mind caught up.

“He’s here.”

No further explanation was needed. There weren’t exactly that many “he”s floating around Beacon Hills that could spark this level of dread inside Derek. He moved the phone away from his ear, listening, and took another limping step from the side of the rail car. He could smell the Nogitsune, but he couldn’t pinpoint the scent. Couldn’t even get a vague direction.

Like it was floating all around him.

Scott’s tinny voice came out sharply through the phone.

_“Here where?  Derek, where are you?  I’ll come help.”_

Derek’s skin was itching under the Nogitsune’s gaze. He took another step, trying to get to the middle of the room – away from the corners, the shadows. It had to be hiding somewhere. Lurking somewhere. It looked like Stiles, had his form. It couldn’t just disappear or float around, invisible… could it?

“I know you’re here,” Derek snapped, trying to play off his nerves with anger. “No use in playing games, trickster.  I can smell you.”

_“Derek, where are you?”_

But Derek couldn’t focus on Scott, because suddenly the scent was so strong he could taste it, as if Stiles… the Nogitsune… was standing inches away from him. And then a voice breathed against his ear.

“And what do I smell like, Derek?”

Derek spun so fast that his leg nearly buckled, but the space behind him was empty. The echoing laughter that rang through the building was just like the smell: everywhere.

It could be anywhere. Peering about like this was pointless, and exactly what it wanted.

Trying to steady his breathing, he brought the phone back to his ear.

“Scott, I’ll try holding him off.  We’re at th—“ He could sense it coming a heartbeat before the blade tore into him. Not soon enough to react, not soon enough to do anything but feel a chill of dread and then…

He felt like he was dying. His legs gave out, vision blurring as he tried to make sense of the crimson-coated steel suddenly sticking out through his shirt. Distantly he heard something snarling, groaning in pain. Less distantly, like a lifeline, someone was clutching his arm.

He concentrated on breathing until the world stopped being so damn crimson and grey, until he understood that the pained noises were coming from his own throat and forced them to stop.

Someone was hovering next to him, holding onto him. Keeping him from collapsing to the concrete floor. He swiveled his gaze dizzily, and for half a second his brain supplied: _of course, Stiles. Who else?_

But Stiles’ eyes wouldn’t be sweeping over Derek like that – cool and assessing, like a predator. He’d be panicking and rambling, slapping Derek in the face to try and keep him conscious, or something.

And Stiles’ lips wouldn’t be curving up in a leer, one hand trailing up and down Derek’s forearm in strange, fluttering touches. And he wouldn’t be saying “Oh we don’t need any company, do we, Derek?  I already had a _lot_ of fun with the others earlier tonight. So much delicious _chaos_.” The last word dragged Derek’s mind from the dazed pain of the blade, and suddenly it was obvious again why Stiles was acting so wrong. The Nogitsune tilted its head, frowning faintly at Derek. “But you had to go and miss it.”

So the others had ended up facing it too? But Scott had sounded ok on the phone. And Stiles had been there. And those were the two that mattered. Derek parted his lips to snap out a question…

And the demon snapped his arm.

Derek choked on a curse – _a broken arm, that’s nothing. Don’t be a wuss, Derek_ \- and when the feeling came back, the Nogitsune’s fingers were back to rubbing across his forearm, sending sparks of soothing comfort between the flashes of agony.

“But don’t worry,” the creature breathed.  “We’ll make up for lost time.”

Derek tried to pull himself together enough to say something, but Stiles ( _not Stiles)_ was lowering his head toward Derek’s hand – and oh, was the phone still in his hand? Clenched in his white fist and holding on for dear life?

“Bye bye, Scotty.”

_“Wait!”_

The Alpha’s voice came sharp through the line, but then the fingers dug into the break in Derek’s arm. Derek crumpled, snarling, and the snarl turned into a shout as his movement twisted the sword still sticking straight through him. He distantly noticed the phone being tugged from his hand and thrown away behind him, but that wasn’t the priority right now. The priority was to keep breathing.

_Keep breathing, Derek. You’ve been through worse than this._

A shadow drifted over him, and when was able to move again he dragged his gaze up and found the Nogitsune crouched in front of him. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped and head tilted thoughtfully.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” it said lightly, angling its head further to the side to line up with Derek’s. “And now that it’s just you and me, I’ll confess: I’ve been feeling like we need to catch up.”

Derek’s broken arm was slowly knitting back together. He braced his other hand on the cold floor and shoved himself upward, wincing as the movement shifted the still-present sword. An Oni flanked either shoulder, blades drawn, and Derek knew there had to be at least one more lurking somewhere behind him, missing its sword.

Alone. _Right_.

“If it was just you and me,” Derek snapped, wishing his voice wasn’t so ragged, “you wouldn’t be standing right now.”

“Ooh,” The Nogitsune grinned, its brows lifting and waggling in a way that was so decidedly _Stiles_ that Derek found himself having to fight, again, to keep focused. “Jumping right into the foreplay today, are we?”

But Stiles would never say something like that. The tone was right, but the words… Stiles might run his mouth more than any human set of lungs should allow, but he didn’t say things like that. He didn’t have the confidence for that kind of a joke.

“Don’t mind my little smoke soldiers,” the fox added, and with a flick of his gaze the Oni were moving back, their swords sheathing in sync, to stand at the far edges of the room.  If you didn’t squint for their masks in the shadows, you wouldn’t notice their presence at all. “They’re literally made from knives that have been chopped from a fox’s tail.  Oh, and fireflies.” It raised its brows again, tilting its head in a way that said ‘seriously, do you see what I have to deal with?’ 

“No offense my little magic army here,” it added, “but they’re about as sentient as a set of desk lamps.  It’s just you and me here, Derek.”

There were pieces of Stiles in the Nogitsune’s manner, shifting around under the surface. Jumping out in the odd expression, tone, word, touch.

Derek felt like he was staring at a cracked picture… except that was such a cliché he kind of wanted to smack his brain just for thinking it.

The Nogitsune’s brows twitched further upward, and Derek tore his gaze away. How long had he been staring?

“Desk lamps,” he snarled, adding extra venom to each spat out each word, “don’t impale people with swords.”

There was a shiver threatening to run through him, and he wanted to blame it on the blood loss. The sword had impaled him just below his ribs, but had somehow avoided hitting anything too major. If it had he’d be dead by now, wolf healing or no. He doubted it was an accident. …He didn’t want to think about why.

The bones in his arm had healed, but he still felt the flesh of his forearm tingling.

And there was no question about why _that_ was, and it had nothing to do with blood loss. But it had never mattered before this and it sure as hell wasn’t going to matter now.

Not with the Nogitsune leaning closer, looking positively gleeful, like it could read every half-formed notion running through his mind.

 _Fuck._ Could it?

“But what’s a little impalement between friends, right Derek? I mean… slamming people into walls, bashing heads into steering wheels…” He tensed as its eyes went down to Derek’s bloody shirt, a hand drifting out to brush over the already crusting liquid. Derek growled faintly, warningly, but it only made the creature’s smirk wider. “Our relationship’s always been right at the edge of S & M territory anyway.”

That was it. Derek knocked the hand away, eyes burning blue and flaring out a second later. He didn’t have the energy to maintain the wolf form, but he didn’t let that translate into his tone.

“Stop _talking,”_ he snarled, “like you’re him.”

He was fueling the Nogitsune by reacting. It was doing everything it could to provoke him.

Derek didn’t give a damn, still scowling as the creature came out of its crouch and began to pace slowly around him. He followed with his eyes until it got too far behind him, and the mere thought of twisting his body made his chest twinge in warning.

The creature was speaking as it moved.

“Oh, but I am him, Derek.  I lived inside his head for weeks.  I know every thought, fear and fantasy he ever had.  I took his knowledge and experience and _chaos_ to supplement my own.  And there is just so much delicious chaos running through his teenage brain.”

Derek tensed when the creature ducked in close behind him, grabbing the hair at his nape and drawing in a long breath against his neck. _Smelling_ him. It should have repulsed him but… Derek was a wolf.

And when was the last time someone had done that? Breathed him in? Memorizing his scent?  Like they wanted to know every piece of him?

He forced his breaths to come in and out evenly.

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it matter. He wouldn’t let it _see_ that it mattered.

“And you…” Derek’s eyes squeezed shut, his mantra running on rapid-fire repeat through his brain. “Your instincts are so conflicted every day, aren’t they?  Head and heart, hope and fear.  Lust and loathing.” Its lips ghosted over Derek’s ear, and his jaw jumped before he clenched it. He clamped down on the shiver threatening to trail through him again, forced himself to focus on the pain from the blade instead of the way the demon’s breath hitched, a soundless laugh puffing against his throat.

“Is there anything inside you, Derek, that isn’t pure chaos?”

Some sick, pathetic part of Derek wanted to keep still. Let the warm breaths keep dancing across his neck. Just the simple feeling of physical _closeness_.

God… fights and lugging unconscious bodies aside…

Had anyone even touched him since Jennifer?

He jerked his head away from the creature, and felt a laugh rising up in him.

He hadn’t realized he was this pathetic. Enjoying the closeness of a demon that had just impaled him with a sword? Broken his arm and smiled while doing it? How fucking _desperate_ was he?

“So you gonna torture me?” he snapped, striving to regain some control.  “Kill me?  Or are we just gonna chat?”

The creature was on its feet in a second, stalking back into view before crouching in front of him again. And every single time Derek saw Stiles’ face on the creature, it surprised him all over again.

 _Pathetic_.

The smile was gone from the creature’s face, its expression a hard sort of satisfied that promised absolutely nothing good.

“Oh, you would like me to torture you, wouldn’t you?” Its eyes slid over him – expressionless, _void_ , like a scientist. Or a god.  “Derek Hale, Beacon Hills' favorite furry punching bag.  Beaten up, beaten down, holes torn straight through you… You know how to handle that.  I think some sad little part of you actually _enjoys_ it.” Derek grimaced, and a hint of emotion flitted back into those eyes. But now it looked like Stiles again – strategist Stiles, working through a complex problem – and that was worse. 

“No, that’s not right,” it breathed, pressing a hand to the floor to lean in closer. “Not ‘enjoys’ it.  But deep down in that tortured wolfy heart… you just think you deserve it, don’t you?”

Its hand drifted up then, and _Derek didn’t care_ _and_ the knuckles grazed across his jaw and _god, he didn’t care and_ there was a sudden tenderness in those brown eyes that Derek couldn’t tear himself away from, his heart thudding in his chest as Stiles’ lips tilted up and parted, breathed:

“And you’re _right_.”

_Paige, Mom. The pups. Laura. Erica… Boyd._

The hand pulled away, a twisted smile replacing the tender look as quick as it had come, and for a second Derek felt like he was drowning. His chest tight, a strange pressure behind his eyes, and…

He wouldn’t let it out. Not here, not like this. He might be losing this… whatever the hell game the Nogitsune was playing. But he would _not_ , under any circumstances, let it see tears in his eyes.

Not for this. Not for _nothing_.

He’d been through way worse than this _._

Still crouched in front of him, the Nogitsune had taken on the pose of a thoughtful professor, arms crossed and one finger rubbing slowly across his bottom lip. But then its eyes slid shut, and a slow, wondering smile crept across its face, and it said “Oh that’s _delicious_ , Derek.  That spike of conflict inside you…  And all it takes is weak, human Stiles saying you deserve to suffer—”

“You’re not Stiles.”

It _wasn’t_ Stiles. And Derek had to keep repeating that to himself until the sting of the words burned away. Until he could convince himself they didn’t matter, no matter how true.

And just to confuse the situation more, the Nogitsune’s voice suddenly took on a light, familiar cadence.

“Well, that’s even worse isn’t it, _Sourwolf_?  Some stranger with Stiles’ face shows up, tells you you’re worthless, and just like that the self-loathing comes rushing out?” Derek wanted to move. To get up and run. To claw its throat out so it couldn’t speak anymore. But the barest movement left the blade shredding his insides.  So he had to sit and listen to the demon talk in Stiles’ voice, stealing his best ‘pep talk’ tone and twisting it into something unbearable.

“Where’s the self confidence, man?  The conviction to go with all that werewolf strength?  No wonder you didn’t last long as Alpha.”

A growl escaped Derek, but they both knew it meant nothing. With movement stolen from him, what options did he have?

Could he rip the blade free? The hilt was in his back, out of reach, but he could grab the blade, shove it out from the front.

…And then what? It’d still take time to heal, too much time. The Oni were lurking just out of sight, and the Nogitsune was definitely stronger than the average Stiles. Derek couldn’t move with the blade driven through him, and he couldn’t get the blade out without all of his enemies falling on him at once.

Stiles… _not_ Stiles… was looming over him now, just out of arm’s reach.

Smart decision. Because if he got close enough to touch, Derek would probably lose control and attack him, no matter what happened to him in the process.

“God,” Not-Stiles knew it, and laughed. “You are absolutely _vibrating_ with a desire to kill me.  Don’t you realize that I’m just trying to help you?”

And then Derek was the one to laugh, because that was too ridiculous to respond any other way to. And the laughter wrenched the blade inside him, and the blood loss was making him dizzy, but…

“Thought you were using me to…” he grimaced, searching for the right term, “… _feed_ yourself.”

Because that what this was. That’s what all it was all about. Upsetting Derek, confusing Derek, stabbing a giant metal blade through Derek… all because dark foxes fed on other people’s emotions.

“Well, that too,” Stiles… _not_ -Stiles, answered lightly. And Derek forced himself to look him over carefully, to take in his smooth movements, the hard lines in his stance.  Because he was losing too much blood and the tone was still light and it was getting too easy to think of not-Stiles as Stiles. It quirked its brows as Derek watched it, and the eyes were too steady to be Stiles’. Stiles didn’t do steady, or still, or holding eye contact. Everything about him was agitated motion, and the difference helped focus Derek as the Nogitsune continued speaking.

“But there’s no reason this can’t be mutually beneficial.  Think of this as the thousand therapy sessions you really should’ve had.” It seemed to sense that it was losing Derek, because it crouched again and its voice turned soft. “Come on, Derek, we’re pals, right?  I’ve got all these memories, these emotions, bouncing around in here.”

But Derek held on to the steady eyes, the _wrong_ eyes, and arched a brow.

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs a therapy session.”

Which felt like the perfect comeback for all of half a second, before the Nogitsune’s face darkened and its hand darted out, grabbing the blade in Derek’s gut and _twisting_.

Every nerve in Derek’s body screamed and went numb, and when the world faded back from a white haze he was on his side, gasping. His face sticky with tears or with blood.

The Nogitsune paced, agitated, in front of him.

“Sorry about that.  We weren’t going to go with the physical torture today, were we?  It’s just these teenage bodies, you know, and their _urges_.” It sent Derek a gleaming grin as he lay gasping.  “Sometimes it’s hard to keep a handle on them.”

Derek forced his hands to the concrete, struggled to right himself.

If there was one thing he would not allow, it would be lying in his own congealing blood while the demon fox taunted him.

He managed to get one arm under him before he was forced to start bending, and the pain became too much and a pair of hands caught him just as he started to collapse again. One hand went to the blade, right at the spot where it emerged from his chest, and held it steady in his skin, while the other one supported his arm and pushed him slowly upward. Back to his knees, and held him in place until he could breathe again.

“I don’t have to feed on your _pain_ , you know,” the Nogitsune murmured, and its hand slowly, very gently, caressed the rent skin around the blade. Past the pain, the touch sent sparks of soothing through him, and Derek allowed his eyes to fall shut for a second. Just a second.

He’d kill the Nogitsune in just a second.

“And you don’t need to be in pain to feel chaos,” it added, continuing to soothe the shredded skin. “Remember how it felt yesterday, Derek?  How freeing it was to just act?  To let all the chaos boiling inside of you out?”

He blinked his eyes back open.

“You mean when I almost burned Argent to death?”

The thing was, it _had_ felt good. He’d felt convicted. Free. It hadn’t been until the spell wore off him that Derek had realized just how caged by his anger he’d been.

Stiles’ eyes were inches from his, skating over his features steadily. His left hand came away from bracing Derek’s shoulder, and he used the sleeve of his flannel shirt to dab at the blood on the side of his face.

There was that same look in his eyes that he’d had before, when he’d brushed his fingers across Derek’s cheek. Before he’d said he deserved to suffer. Before _it_ had said. The fox, not Stiles. Derek steadied himself. He wouldn’t be caught off-guard like that again. Wouldn’t let the demon affect him.

“You were so close, Derek. Too bad you passed out before that ran its course.  It would’ve been so cathartic, wouldn’t it?”

The sleeve brushed the edge of his lips, and Derek twitched his head pointedly away.

“I was about a second from getting my brains blown out."

“Yes." The Nogitsune smiled Stiles’ mischievous smile, matching Derek’s even tone with one of its own. “ _Cathartic_.  Come on, Derek.  I know you’ve thought about it.  You’re too stubborn to ever do the deed yourself, but there’s a reason you keep throwing yourself into all those impossible fights, isn’t there?”

Derek’s teeth bared, and the creature smirked as if Derek was just proving its point. The sleeve swept across his cheek one more time, and it shrugged as Derek jerked his head back, and then pushed itself back to its feet.

“And you know you’re not the only one who’s thought it.”

The Nogitsune looked down at Derek with such smug assurance that he couldn’t help feeling like…

Like he was the king on a goddamn chessboard. And he was about to be checkmated.

“Come on, Derek, I hardly know you.  We’ve never spoken before tonight.  So where do you think all this delicious insight is coming from?”

It waggled its brows again, and the answer hit Derek like another blade in the chest.

 _Idiot._ He should have seen that coming. It should have hurt less, knowing it was designed to wound him. It didn’t.

The Nogitsune tilted its head, watching silently, and there was no point in sitting stubbornly quiet. Derek drew his chin up, ignoring the sickness writhing through him, and said: “Stiles.”

The Nogitsune’s face broke into a broad grin. The kind of grin he’d seen Stiles send Scott when he won a lacrosse game, or when they escaped a particularly tough enemy.

“There you go, wolf-boy!  Everything I know about you, every thought and opinion I have… that comes direct from my helpful former host.  Tell me, would you consider Stiles a decent judge of the human condition?”

Derek held the demon’s eyes, jaw clenched, too many thoughts and emotions to name rattling inside of him. Namely, that Stiles was just about the best judge of people… judge of _everything_ , really, that Derek had ever encountered.

“He doesn’t know how you make it from one day to the next, you know.  Not with all the awful things you’ve done.  The mistakes you’ve made… the deaths you caused.”

He didn’t move. Wouldn’t move. If he was still, he could be stone. Stone didn’t get broken by words.

The Nogitsune paced closer.

“Do you think anyone would even miss you?” It smirked, eyes moving dismissively down Derek’s pale, bloody frame.  “And who can blame them?  Everyone who gave a damn about you died seven years ago, and it was all _your fault_ , wasn’t it?”

_Kate’s face lighting as he told her. The smell of smoke and charred flesh choking from miles away._

He was stone. Goddamn stone. Even if his next breath shuddered.

The creature straightened up, casually smoothing Stiles’ wrinkled flannel. Its eyes floated off somewhere behind Derek, and its lips curled.

“You know, you’re not even on their radar anymore, Derek.” And there was no question who ‘they’ were.  Everyone. Everyone he had left. “Now that you’ve lost your Alpha status, you’re nothing but an afterthought to any of them.  They knew about me having the Oni, you know.” He did know. He’d heard it in Scott’s voice.  That guilty tone of a teenager being caught slacking off. Like he was a teacher, a warden, just existing to scold him.

Derek’s mind flitted back through their interactions. Was that really all he was now? The annoying tutor Scott tried to avoid?

“They were all sitting together,” the Nogitsune continued lightly, “chatting about the problem all night.  Stiles, Scott.  Your new friend, Chris.  But not a single one of them bothered to warn you.  Face it, Derek.  You’re not pack to them, you never will be.”

And the stone was crumbling because… the trickster wasn’t lying. It didn’t need to. That was the beauty of loving chaos – you almost never had to lie to bring it about. You just had to stab at the wounds that were already waiting.

The Nogitsune gave him a strangely encouraging look as it murmured: “What’s the worst thing in the world for a wolf to be, Derek?”

And he didn’t have to think about it. There was only one thing in the world worse than death to a wolf. Only one thing you would give everything you had not to be.

“…Alone.”

That’s why he’d sided with Peter, even after Laura. Why he’d tracked down a band of tortured teenagers in the hope of making a new family. Why he’d come back to Beacon Hills at all.

But at least there was one person…

“Oh,” the Nogitsune’s head tilted, brows furrowing. “But you’re not _quite_ alone, are you?”

One person left to him, tied to him.

“What’s that one little spark of hope wriggling in your chest?”

Tied to him no matter what. As long as he kept her safe. He wouldn’t lose his last lifeline. Even if she didn’t want it. Even if that meant staying as far away from her as he could.

But the Nogitsune had started laughing.

“ _Cora_?”

Derek’s head snapped up, searching the demon fox’s expression. But it just seemed amused more than anything.

“Really, Derek.  Cora?  Oh, that’s so pathetic it’s almost pitiable.” Derek pressed his lips together, forcing his body to still (when had it started to shake? What was it, rage? Pain? Blood loss?)

“She didn’t come to Beacon Hills looking for you, Derek.  She came looking because she’d heard of a Hale Alpha.” Its teeth flashed.  “I bet she was hoping for Laura, don’t you?  And the second you renounced your Alpha status, she couldn’t wait to get away again.”

 _“I came back for_ this _? I can’t believe I got myself thrown into a vault for three months for_ you.”

“I mean, where is she now?  She doesn’t seem to have come back with you.”

_“Powerful new Alpha, one of the Hales…” Her tone bitter, her eyes… disgusted. Like his very existence was just a way to disappoint her._

“...She’s in South America.” The words seemed to escape on their own. Derek’s body felt strangely distant.

“In _South America_?  God, Derek, she went to another country to get away from you?  That doesn’t exactly scream of sisterly devotion, does it?”

She would have come back if he’d asked her, he knew that. But she hadn’t wanted to. She had more of a family, more of a life in that place than she ever would with him. Family she’d created, that she didn’t look at like they were an obligation, like if she stuck around it would be out of guilt more than love.

And so he’d forced himself to be content with the idea of having a sister out there somewhere, even if he never saw her again. Maybe she would appreciate that much.

“I did it to save her,” he said faintly. “If I’d stayed an Alpha, she would be dead.”

“Better dead than an Omega, Derek,” the demon breathed.  “Which is exactly what you reduced her to.  Reduced you _both_ to.”

Omega. Without pack. Alone.

_“What the hell are we supposed to do now, Derek? You can’t lead.” Cora winced at his flinch, but pushed past it, shoulders shrugging. “Well you can’t. That’s not how it works. There won’t ever be any more Hale Alphas now. It’s just—” She cut herself off, shoulders tense, and couldn’t meet his eyes._

Derek pulled himself from the memory, scowling up at the creature.

“I thought you only knew what Stiles knows.”

“But we’re also excellent observers of the human condition.  And I can feel the truth rippling inside you, Derek.  You agree with every word I’m saying.  You just need to get yourself to accept it.”

Accept it. Deal with it.

_You’ve been through worse than this, Derek._

The familiar thought caught hold inside, and he found himself slowly straightening, the dread draining from his heart.

“I thought you thrived on chaos, trickster.  Doesn’t ‘helping me work through my issues’ kind of go against that?” It was getting to him through his doubts, pain. His guilt. Well screw that. If Derek could survive in his own head each day, he could sure as hell deal with this.

“So maybe you’re right.  I have no one.  I’m an _Omega_.” _Deal with it._ Put everything out in the open, and it would it have nothing left to use on him.  “My pack left me before I lost my Alpha status.  They were so damn desperate to get away from me that they walked straight into the Alpha pack’s trap.” He paused to draw in a breath, used the pain to push onward.  “I’ve dated _two_ homicidal psychopaths.  My uncle would kill anyone, including me, to get ahead, my sister can’t stand the sight of me, and the rest of my family’s dead.  Life sucks, I’ve known that a long time.  So what the hell are you gonna use on me now?”

He’d startled it, he could see that, and felt a touch of grim satisfaction as the demon stared. But then…

“Oh, that’s good,” the Nogitsune murmured, watching Derek like he was a whole new beast now. “That’s… skill.  You use your chaos as fuel, don’t you?  Of course you do.  How else would you have survived this long?”

The anger held Derek’s spine steady, guilt kept his gaze cold.

“So what.  The hell.  Are gonna use on me?”

But as much as he’d knocked the creature off-balance, it was recovering fast. Looking at Derek in a new way – not like a caged animal or a specimen, but as if he actually intrigued it. It took a step closer, sank down in front of him, and drew in a slow, hungry breath.

“This.”

It grabbed the front of Derek’s shirt, and Derek had thought it was avoiding physical torture today, and he opened his mouth to snap… _something_ and then—

Stiles’ mouth crushed against his, and for a heartbeat all of his pain went away. When it bled back in it didn’t matter, because Stiles was gripping the back of his head, his hip, fingers raking down Derek’s nape, urging their faces closer. And his mouth was moving, _moaning_ , fast and desperate against Derek’s.

And Derek was clutching his shirt, kissing back just as hard.

He felt dizzy and desperate, confused. Complete. His lips were bruising and his head wouldn’t stop spinning and he wouldn’t want it to anyway.  And their bodies weren’t close enough, the blade forcing them to lean in over it and…

 _The blade._ That’s right. That’s… this wasn’t…

He shoved the Nogitsune back, feeling sick.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

The creature rocked back on its heels, eyes heavy. A grin forming.

“Like I said, all these teenage hormones.”

Its tongue flitted out to lick swollen lips, and Derek forced himself to look away. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. This wasn’t Stiles. It wasn’t fair to look at this creature, looking the way Stiles would look after a kiss…

But he couldn't not look.  His eyes dragged back and the creature was watching him through half lidded eyes, and _it wasn’t Stiles_.  Couldn’t ever be Stiles.

_…It would be worse if it were Stiles…_

It was moving, closing in again. Derek’s hand went up in warning but the creature caught it easily, brought it up to those lips and they brushed against his knuckles, and his eyes fluttered shut as if the not-seeing could make it not be happening.  He felt it crowding in against him, to the side of the blade.  The pain still stabbed through him each time his breath hitched, but the heat of another body was enough to transform the burn into sharp flashes of pleasure/pain that set him trembling.

The Nogitsune’s palm cupped the back of Derek’s hand, fingers lacing through his. ...And it was such a strangely innocent gesture for the predator that Derek couldn’t force out the objection he was fighting to summon.

Lips were brushing his shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt. Stiles’ voice moaning, breathless.

“You cause chaos inside of me, Derek.  You’re the only one who can feed me like this.”

“Stop it.” But there was no force to Derek’s words. His hand was being guided down to clutch the teen’s thigh, and thrill went through Derek as he felt Stiles’ form shiver.

“I can’t, Derek.  I can’t stop.  I want this too badly.”

And this was all a game, just another stupid game. The creature would pull away, laughing, the second Derek responded.

Even if it didn’t, this was wrong. Wrong to touch someone who looked like Stiles, to enjoy the sensation of lips trailing across his neck, to savor this closeness that wasn’t really closeness.

_Really Hale, getting thrills off a demon because the skinny high school geek wouldn’t want you? When did this become your life?_

Stiles would be mortified if he found out. Embarrassed. Disgusted. He would look at Derek like some pathetic, desperate, lonely thing. And he’d be right.

“You’re not him…” The words came out too faint. He had to force himself to believe it.

“Do you want me to be?”

Embarrassed. Disgusted. Pitying.

“No!”

He felt it smile, teeth grazing across his jaw.

“Good,” the creature breathed. “Because I don’t want to share.”

Its hand released Derek’s, moved to caress his bloody thigh, and he felt his own hand twitch in response… felt other things twitch in response… and _no. Damn it, Hale, get a grip._

He did, grabbing the front of the demon’s shirt and using all his strength to shove it backward. It hit the cement floor on its back and slid, and Derek would have grinned… but the creature beat him to it. Pushed itself back up on its elbows, eyes bright, laughing.

And that pissed Derek off more than anything.

“You’re pretty confident,” he snapped, “for a ‘chaotic teenager’.”

The smile fell away and it pushed itself back to its feet, groaning slightly. And at least that was something. If it could feel pain, feel frustration… at least that was _something_.

“Chaotic teenage _urges_ ,” it snapped, “But the mind of a fox.  And I’ve got the distinct advantage of feeling what you’re feeling.” It paused, eyes drifting over Derek in a long, lingering look that made Derek’s gaze shift away.  “Your personal chaos ramps up every time I come near you.”

That was one way to put it. Actually, probably the best way to describe how Derek wanted to rip the thing’s clothes off and rip its heart out at the same time.

“Do you know anything about foxes, Derek?” Derek glanced up, brows knitting at the sudden change of subject.  “Our habits, our customs?  We don’t have packs like wolves, but we don’t travel alone either.  We search the world,” and it had closed back in, just out of reach again. Circling him. “…until we find one perfect _mate_.”

Derek forgot the blade as he swiveled to face the creature, and almost crumpled when the pain cut through again. A hand caught its shoulder, and when his vision cleared out he searched for any laughter in those eyes.

Because… that was a joke, right?

There was no humor in the demon’s eyes as it stared back. And what was the point of saying something like _that?_ Something that put the Nogitsune, not Derek, on the spot?

Needing to respond, not knowing what to say, he decided to go for the vague and the obvious: “Foxes and wolves don’t exactly get along.”

“Oh come on, Derek.  Don’t tell me you didn’t grow up on Disney.” And that was such a Stiles reference that he felt his lips pursing, the way they did when he absolutely refused to smile at one of the teen’s jokes. “Besides, remember how I thrive on chaos?  I love a little conflict.”

He felt its hand grip the blade, and all Derek could do was curse, tensing, waiting for it to twist again. Instead, it was pulled free.

Derek allowed himself to crumple, the pain worsening and easing in violent throbs that sent his flesh tingling as it finally started to heal. Distantly, he heard the blade clatter to the ground, and the Nogitsune crouched over him, running a hand fondly down his cheek.

“There we go.” It seemed pleased, but not mocking. There was something about it, suddenly, that felt strangely sincere.  “I guess this whole propositioning might go a little better if you’re not impaled.”

Derek wrenched his head to the side, snarling. Like he’d be fooled by softness again _._ It was going to regret pulling that sword out of him.

“I’m gonna heal in thirty seconds and then I’m gonna rip out your spleen.”

The wound was knitting together rapidly, throbs of pain not-quite threatening to make him pass out. He was still lightheaded from blood loss – could he blame everything on being lightheaded from blood loss? – and he felt cold without the touch of those hands on his skin.

Thirty seconds. He’d give himself thirty seconds, and then he’d fight his way out.

“You won’t.” It leaned over him, and Derek felt a spark of heat he didn’t know what to do with.  Pull it close, push it off. He’d been alone for too damn long, and the fox knew it. Just like Jennifer had known it. That’s why she’d played up the big hopeful eyes and the instant crush. That’s why the Nogitsune was saying this now.

“You want to,” the demon conceded, as Derek stared up at it, hate and longing. “But you won’t.  Because you know, deep down, that you don’t want to be alone.  And I have the perfect solution.”

A _mate_. A companion. Never being alone.

It grabbed Derek’s shirt and tugged, and Derek let it kiss him, and tasted its hunger, and wondered what it would be like to give in to it. Maybe he’d feel warm again before it tore him apart.

Thirty seconds.

He launched into motion, twisting and pinning the creature to the concrete. One arm braced against its throat, the other, claws extending, pressed over its heart. But once he had it pinned he paused.

This was it. One blow and it could be over.

…Could he handle it being over?

“You’re a psychotic killer,” he snarled, reminding himself, and the nails dug in.

The demon stared up at him, fearless. Fond. _Honest._

“I’m a psychotic _trickster_ ,” it corrected. “Anyway, you’ve had psychopaths before. I think you might actually prefer us.”

Kate had seemed too good be true until she had been. Jennifer had said everything he’d needed to hear, until he’d learned everything she said was a lie.

But it had felt good until it hadn’t. And this could be better. This time he’d see it coming.

This time it would be with the one he really wanted… or as close as he’d ever get.

“Come on, Derek.” It shifted faintly beneath him. Its eyes fluttered, unsteady. Its eyes had always been steady before. “I thought you were all about accepting things today.  You can have me.  We can have this.” And its voice had gone husky, harsh with impatience, its hands coming up to clutch Derek’s hips.  “Come on.  Touch me… and fuel the chaos inside me.”

And then, with seeming effort, the hands dropped. The creature’s face had taken on a gleam of frustration, like it actually wanted this. Like it was more than a game.  Like the idea of not getting it was too much to bear.  Deep inside, Derek felt his wolf growl in matching frustration.

“Or don’t." The fox's next breath came out sharp and heavy. “And feed me with the chaos inside yourself.”

Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, huh?

His own breaths shuddered as he hovered over the creature, a clenched fist from killing it, a dipped head from kissing it. Its eyes slid shut, reveling at his conflict... And maybe it was pride, more than anything, that had Derek's fingers digging harder into its chest.

He’d been alone for this long. He knew how to handle it.

When the Nogitsune’s hand went up to press against his chest, he thought it was trying to shove him away. But then he felt something small wriggle against his flesh, going from its hand into his still-healing wound. Derek straightened fast, staring down, but whatever it was had already disappeared beneath his skin.

Sickened, shocked, he looked back to the creature, who was lounging beneath him, smiling, hands going back to casually support his head.

“What the hell was that?”

The creature shrugged.

“I hate running repeats, Derek, but you’re so damn stubborn I guess you just need the extra push. I want it on record that you forced my hand. I so wanted that chaos to come out all on its own.”

Derek’s fist clenched, an overwhelming urge to hit the creature surging through him. And as soon as he thought it he was moving, slamming his fist into the demon’s face. It laughed, spitting blood, and then Derek had it by the collar, tugging it up and crushing their mouths together.

And _hell_ , why had he been fighting this? Why had he been fighting anything?

When it was so much better, so much easier, to do what he wanted?  To let himself _feel_?

He slammed the demon back into the concrete and followed it down, lips going to its throat, teeth skimming over the tender flesh, breathing in the scent of blood and Stiles and lust.

“You’ll come around to this on your own,” the demon breathed, arching its neck and digging welts into Derek’s sides. “But for now just let yourself feel it. Taste how good chaos can be.”

And Derek did.

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, the evil glow bugs are back, causing chaos and releasing suppressed emotion wherever they go. Poor Derek.
> 
> I might end up posting a follow-up if the inspiration stays with me. Let me know if you'd like to see what comes next!
> 
> And in the meantime, head over to "Feed the Chaos" if you want to see the scene from another point of view. It might interest you to know that Scott and Stiles heard basically everything that happened here...
> 
> [Come find me on Tumblr](http://halekingsourwolf.tumblr.com)


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